The life of Mycroft Holmes
by Dweo
Summary: Twenty snippets out Mycroft's life
1. Ten Themes

**Theme:** Mirror  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Shadow**

When Mycroft looks in to a mirror he sees himself as the world sees him. Common, unnoticeable, bureaucrat, powerful, omnipotent, the spider in the web.

But when he looks closer, he sees something else. A shadow, a specter of what could have been. A dangerous being, energetic, caustic, dark, mean, anti-social, addicted, always moving, never stopping to see the consequences. A shadow outside the rules that rule Mycroft's life.

Free.

Sometimes, deep down, he wishes he was that shadow, that he was free.

When Mycroft looks into the mirror he sees what could have been and his name is Sherlock.

**Theme:** Minor  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Slight swearing  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**A Happy Occasion**

"BUGGER!"

He stares at the mess in front of him and curses.

Mycroft isn't a man who curses. Cursing is a crude method used by people to incompetent to express themselves in other ways.

But this deserves the loudest, most heartfelt bugger Mycroft could manage. He hates incidents like this. They always happened at the least convenient times. Now he had to find a way to correct this minor setback.

Perhaps he could simply ignore it, maybe nobody would notice. What does it matter if the whole world will be watching? It were just some wedding-dresses his underling blew up.

**Theme:** Mimic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Discussion of sociopaths  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Sociopath **

Sociopaths are all around us. Most people will never know, never know the danger they are until it is too late. They will mimic emotions, friendship, love. They are master manipulators, they use you then throw you aside. They break you, take you apart piece by piece until they get bored with you. And only then you will know what they are.

People always think Sherlock is the sociopath, the psychopath, the freak. They always point to Mycroft as the nice boy, the perfect son, the good man.

They never realise what he really is and that suits him fine.

**Theme:** Minute  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Everything**

He sees everything, every minute detail, every minute clue.

He can't help noticing things.

He notices the small cut on his assistance's hand, from when she nicked it on a cardboard-box. He notices the white hair on the PM's jacket, from when he hugged his father. He notices that the painting is turned two millimeters, from when the cleaner wiped it. He noticed the tiny scuff mark on the ambassador's shoe, from when he kissed his mistress. He noticed the small red mark on his brother's neck from when John kissed him.

Mycroft notices everything and he hates it sometimes.

**Theme:** Middle  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Middle**

People always focus on the beginning and the end, birth and death, marriage and divorce.

His beginning was unexpected, unplanned, but also welcome. And normal, oh so boringly normal.

His end will be swift, the hard, hot heat of a stray bullet. And the funeral will be boring, oh so boring.

But the middle, that was the thing that matters. The middle was where everything really happened. The wars he started; the wars he ended; the wars he endured. The lives he saved; the lives he ended; the lives he watched going on.

His middle was a big adventure. His middle was Life.

**Theme:** Horror  
><strong>Rating:<strong>R  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Graphic description of torture  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**To Safe Him from Temptation**

The knife is sharp enough to meet no resistance, sliding through skin, muscle and sinew. There isn't much pain as his nerves still need to catch up with what is happening.

"Another piece gone. Soon I'll have cut you down piece by piece. Until there is nothing left of you. Until you can no longer tempt him."

His big toe is carless thrown on the pile of rotting flesh in the corner.

His flesh.

He watches as Mycroft Holmes meticulously wipes the knife clean and not for the first time Jim Moriarty thinks he might have made a real mistake.

**Theme:** Humor  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Leitmotif**

Mycroft stared at his phone.

Every time he walked into a room his phone would ring and that dreadful noise would sound.

The music was pompous, loud, somewhat familiar and he hadn't programmed it. Mycroft frowned as he searched his fast memory to find where he heard it before.

He was broken out of thought when he walked into his PA's office and the music played once again.

"Sir, why is your phone playing the Imperial March?"

Then realization hit.

At that same moment, on the other side of London, a man stopped playing his violin with a smirk.

**Theme:** Hurt/comfort  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Tears**

He curls into a ball, trying to ignore the pain from his leg, trying to be invisible, trying to tune out the world. He knows his leg is broken, he just knows.

He shakes his head vigorously as he feels tears run down his cheek. He shouldn't cry he isn't a child anymore. He failed and knows his parents will be disappointed in him.

"Don't cry Mycroft I don't like it when you cry." At those words a small hand wipes away his tears. And when two small arms pull him close Mycroft relaxes and realises everything will be okay.

**Theme:** Historical  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Repeating History**

Mycroft Holmes watched as the young man walked to the house. The boy was no more than a child and already Mycroft knew that the future was walking there and it was Mycroft's job to make sure the future would end up where he belonged. It was Mycroft's job to pull the King's strings and stir William Pitt where he could do the most good.

So he pulled the strings, just like his father had done and just like his descendants would do in a hundred years, two hundred years.

Because behind every great ruler in history there is Mycroft Holmes.

**Theme:** Heroic  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Hero**

"Heroes don't exist!" Sherlock screamed at the figure lying in the bed in front of him. The only reaction he got was the steady bleeping of the heart monitor and the gentle woof of the respirator.

The sounds were hateful and all Sherlock wanted to do was rip everything out, to silence the sound of his failure.

"Sherlock." The hand on his shoulder turned him around, and as two arms held him close, he felt anger drain and a hollow feeling of pain replace it.

"John, why did he have to be a hero?"

"Because that's what brothers are for."


	2. Food

**FOOD**

**Theme:** #1  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Cake**

Mycroft looked around his kitchen, his top of the line, fully equipped kitchen. His kitchen which had been clean this morning, immaculately so. Now it looked like a bakery had exploded. White, brown, yellow and unexplainably blue decorated the cabinets, floor, counters and even the ceiling.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, as he dragged his finger through some unidentified white powder.

Everything was forgotten when he saw the cake. He approached it carefully, because you never know. It wasn't until he stood before it, that he saw the writing and burst out in laughter.

Happy Birthday

SH & JW

**Theme:** #2  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Tea**

There is nothing as British as tea, but Mycroft had to admit that the Chinese had the edge when it came to actually making tea.

He watched as Soo-Lin did the tea ceremony. He knew her past and he knew her future. He needed people like her, people who took care of themselves. He had kept his hands of her, just watched as she grew, became the strong woman she was now. She was almost ready for him to scoop her up and shape her the way the world needed her.

But until then she would just be making tea.

**Theme:** #3  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Eating disorder (Binge eating)  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Binge**

He felt his hand twitch nervously as he opened the fridge. He closed it immediately with more force than had been necessary. He walked away, a nervously restlessness in his whole body. He craved to just do it, but his mind said no, so he walked back to his bed. Five minutes later he stood up, still with that itch, stalked back to the fridge and started to eat. Everything within arms' reach was devoured. Ten minutes later Mycroft slit down to the ground feeling full, dirty, nauseous.

His tears fell in silence as he realised his failure once again.

**Theme:** #4  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Spiders  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Coffee**

Mycroft Holmes liked his tea as much as the next Englishman, but at moments like this he needed just one thing and that was a big cup of hot strong coffee.

The day had been hell. He had barely stopped a war, accidently ordered a hit on an innocent man and when he finally went home he found that his umbrella had disappeared. When he walked in to his kitchen, exhausted, it was cold and empty, his family already in bed.

So when a hairy leg poked out of the coffee beans, he decided that the world really hated him.

**Theme:** #5  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Perfect**

His hands slid over the exposed skin reverently. It was soft as silk, and the small hairs tickled his fingertips. He explored further, finding the hard center, stroking it before bringing his fingers, wet with juice, to his mouth. He carefully licked them clean one by one. As the last one popped out of his mouth he groaned.

Everything had heated up nicely and he felt his heart raced. He was ready for the crucial step, his movements carefully and deliberate.

Ten minutes later he stepped back and looked at the sight of the perfect Pavlova.

He really loved cooking.


	3. Family

**Theme:** #1  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>Drug OD  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Parents**

Mycroft Holmes had always known their parents loved them unconditionally.

"I'm not having him committed." Mycroft heard his mother say

"He is just a boy; he'll grow out of it," his father added.

Mycroft couldn't hear the reply, but his mother's answer didn't leave much to the imagination.

"I don't care what he has done, what he'll do, he is our son and we will take care of him."

Mycroft Holmes had always known their parents loved them and as he looked down at his brother, too still, the drugs having almost destroyed his body, he wished they hadn't.

**Theme:** #2  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Brother**

He watched the CCTV footage that streamed to his laptop.

The two men were having a quite diner and even to the untrained eye it was clear they're in love. It was new and both were still unsure.

He sighed.

This meant he would have to have a talk with John Watson. It was Mycroft's job to protect his brother even if it was against his own heart. So Mycroft would make sure John would never break another heart again.

He really did like the doctor and really hoped it would never come to that, but Sherlock came before everything.

**Theme:** #3  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Sister**

He watches the CCTV footage that streamed to his laptop.

The man and woman were having a quite diner and even to the untrained eye it was clear they're in love. It was new, but both were comfortable with it.

He sighed.

This would mean he had to warn Lestrade that the piece of a broken heart were sharp and would leave the man bleeding. But it wasn't Mycroft's job picking up after the messes his sister left.

He really did like the Inspector and really hoped it would never come to that, but Sherrinford could take care of herself.

**Theme:** #4  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Wife**

It had been expected of him, taking a wife, having that average family of 2.4 children, trophy wife, expensive car, big house, two holidays a year.

So of course he hadn't done that. It wouldn't do, being predictable.

When he finally did get married, it had not been to that perfect woman, graceful, elegant, beautiful, smart, the perfect hostess. No, it had been to a socially awkward, insecure, plain, but oh so brilliant woman, dressed in a pink cardigan with kittens.

_No, _he thinks as he looks at her, lying next to him in bed, _This is so much better. _

**Theme:** #5  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong>None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>None  
><strong>Drabble:<strong>

**Children**

Sometimes he wondered how he had end up in this menagerie. The triplets with their mother's character, their father's brain and their uncle's love for unusual things, like tarantulas in the coffee beans and experiments on the kitchen table. And then there was his oldest, who enjoyed changing her name every week and who unfortunately was a carbon copy of her uncle, including worshipping the ground John Watson walked upon.

Sometimes he wondered what in hell's name he had done to deserve this madness. But then a small hand would take his and he realizes how lucky he really is.


End file.
